A Song On the End of the World

On the day the world ends
A bee circles a clover,
A fisherman mends a
glimmering net.
Happy porpoises jump in the sea,
By the rainspout young
sparrows are playing
And the snake is gold-skinned as it should always
be.

On the day the world ends
Women walk through the fields under their
umbrellas,
A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn,
Vegetable
peddlers shout in the street
And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the
island,
The voice of a violin lasts in the air
And leads into a starry
night.

And those who expected lightning and thunder
Are disappointed.
And
those who expected signs and archangels' trumps
Do not believe it is
happening now.
As long as the sun and the moon are above,
As long as the
bumblebee visits a rose,
As long as rosy infants are born
No one believes
it is happening now.

Only a white-haired old man, who would be a prophet
Yet is not a prophet,
for he's much too busy,
Repeats while he binds his tomatoes:
No other end
of the world will there be,
No other end of the world will there be.

And the first poem I ever memorized, when I was a child:

Fire and Ice by Robert Frost

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.